


And They Say Romance Is Dead

by Ccroquette



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia Kink Meme, Humor, M/M, Smut, romance (such as it is), the cake is kind of a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ccroquette/pseuds/Ccroquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sweden is a virgin, and Denmark is oblivious.</p><p>Also, cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Say Romance Is Dead

Sweden frowned down at his laptop screen. Today was Friday, the conference was on Monday, and he still had far too much work to do. All these facts and figures had to be turned into reports, which had to be proofread, and hopefully the agenda wouldn’t change to something else entirely, thus requiring him to write new reports…

He was glaring at a spreadsheet that seemed to have been written in extra-small type, and had just started to contemplate poking his eyeballs out and claiming work-related injury when the doorbell rang. 

He opened the door to find Denmark standing there, luggage next to him and a suspiciously large smile on his face. 

Sweden grunted. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“The conference!” Denmark smirked. “Don’t tell me Mr. I-build-organizers-and-then-organize-my-things-for-fun _forgot_ something...”

“ ‘S not ‘til Monday.” Sweden frowned. “And y’can get a hotel.”

“Nope! They’re all booked up!”

“ ‘S Stockholm. They’re not all booked up.”

“Are too!” Denmark, Sweden decided, sounded far too pleased with that. “See, America was gonna come here early anyway, because he had that meeting in Geneva yesterday and he didn’t want to take a lot of trans-Atlantic flights, so then he decided that all the rest of us should show up and party tonight, and he managed to get it billed as a team-building exercise, so participation is mandatory!”

Like hell it was. “Haven’ heard about it.”

“Really? It was all over Facebook. You should check your messages more often. Anyway, ‘cause of that, everyone else’s bosses are freaking out so there’s all the nations here _and_ their security details, which means no hotel room for little ol’ me. Well, unless I booked at some creepy youth hostel, but last time I went to one of those some kid stole my pants and your place is more comfortable anyway.” He grinned, and hefted a six-pack. “And I brought beer!”

He was _not_ thinking about Denmark without pants. Sweden glared.

“Why not, Sverige? I’ll cook dinner tomorrow!”” He pouted, and put on a face that Sweden supposed was an attempt to look innocent and harmless. He’d seen it many times, most frequently from Hanatamago. 

The dog did it better. Sweden crossed his arms, and continued glaring.

“And dessert! Come on, I’ll make that cake thing you like.”

He uncrossed his arms, but the glare remained. 

“We never get to hang out anymore. How about it?”

Sweden considered. Denmark was loud. Denmark was obnoxious. Denmark was definitely not conducive to getting any sort of work done, particularly as ‘hanging out’ with Denmark usually seemed to involve copious amounts of alcohol followed by bailing Denmark out of jail. 

Then again, cake. 

He sighed, and stepped aside. 

\----

America’s ‘team-building exercise,’ as it turned out, was in fact mandatory. To Sweden’s surprise it was more or less enjoyable for the first several hours, since he got to catch up with people he hadn’t seen for some time - Finland, particularly, was always fun to talk to, especially as he did most of the talking - and Sweden supposed he _was_ due for a break from his work. 

Once the hard liquor came out, though, it got wild. And then it got wilder. He retreated to a quiet corner and considered just leaving, and going back to work on his reports, but these sorts of events had a tendency to cause diplomatic… misunderstandings… and if that happened he’d probably need to be the one to smooth it over. 

He wished he’d brought his charts with him. If nothing else, they would have made a much more pleasant sight to watch than Russia, who was currently attempting to become one with Canada, who didn’t seem to mind. Next to him he saw Germany make a face.

“Ugh, I wish they’d get a room.”

“I don’t!” said England, knocking back the remnants of his drink. “You think this is bad? I roomed next to them last time! Canada’s a screamer.”

Sweden shuddered, and pulled out his phone to see if he could get any work done on there. He’d just managed to find some of the data he needed when Denmark came staggering over, having definitely gotten into the spirit of ‘team-building.’

“Heya, Sverige.” And, judging by the fact that he was listing about fifteen degrees to the left, several other spirits as well. 

“Hm?”

“Got a question for you.” Denmark grinned, drunkenly. “We’re taking bets!”

That didn’t sound promising. 

“See, Norway and I got to thinking-”

Definitely not promising. 

“-‘cause we saw Russia and Canada just now, and Iceland’s puffin caught America and Switzerland going at it-” 

He really hadn’t needed to know that. 

“-and _then_ we all realized we don’t know who _you’ve_ slept with!”

Did he need to be so _loud_? With horror, Sweden watched as several curious nations turned to look in their direction, and wondered how it would look to start a bar fight when he was the only sober one there. Would his boss let him blame extenuating circumstances? 

Probably not. 

Denmark seemed oblivious, and threw an arm around his shoulders, leaning in far closer than was necessary. “So who is it? There’s gotta be at least one. I totally have money riding on Finland, but he says it wasn’t him, and if I keep bothering him he’s gonna knife me.”

That sounded like an excellent idea. Sweden looked up, and tried to pick Finland out of the crowd, but a very large, very inebriated Denmark was in his way. And _still talking_. Sweden growled.

“C’mon, don’t be shy! No one else is. Well, ‘cept Iceland, but everyone knows he and Norway have been an item since forever so it’s not like _that’s_ doing him any good…”

Sweden tried to pull away, but Denmark only clamped his arm tighter around his shoulders, holding him in place. Judging by the strength of it, he’d been working out lately - 

\- which he was definitely _not_ thinking about. Sweden entertained the idea of punching him, instead, but if he started a fight his boss would never let him hear the end of it. He gritted his teeth, and longed for the days when he’d been a Viking. There were very few that situations a little berserking couldn’t fix.

“C’moooon, Sverige….”

Maybe Denmark had worn down his resolve. Maybe the drink he’d had three hours ago was affecting his mind. Maybe it was the fact that Denmark was really _warm_ , and it was causing a fever which clouded his judgment. Whatever it was, he clearly couldn’t be held responsible for his own actions, and Sweden finally mumbled, “No one.”

“What d’you mean, no one? C’mon, who?”

“No one.”

“Wait.” Denmark stared at him, brow furrowed. Sweden could practically see the wheels turning and wished he knew of an acceptable way to stop them. “You mean you’ve never…?”

He looked away. “...no.”

“Oh.” Denmark drew back, an odd, contemplative sort of look in his eyes for all that he was too drunk to see straight. He seemed to be considering something for a moment, before he shrugged, lopsidedly, and turned back to the festivities, leaving Sweden all alone.

Sweden decided that diplomacy could go to hell and made his escape shortly thereafter, and thought that was the end of it. Tomorrow, Denmark would likely be so hung-over he could barely remember his own _name_ , let alone their conversation.

If only Sweden could forget.

He did his best, waking up early and practically papering the couch and coffee table with data tables and reports to summarize, as he sat with his laptop and tried to get everything done. He’d almost managed to succeed at pushing it out of his mind by two o’clock, when Denmark ambled out of the kitchen, carrying a coffee mug and wearing nothing more than a pair of pajama pants. He flopped down on the coffee table, squashing half a year’s worth of financial figures in the process, and greeted Sweden with a hearty, “You’ve _really_ never had sex?”

Inwardly Sweden sighed. He’d needed those. “No.”

“Not even with Finland?”

“No.” Maybe if he was matter-of-fact about it, Denmark would get bored and go away. 

“Not even a little?”

How would that even work? “No.”

“But you guys used to live together!”

“Platonic’ly.”

“Last time you all visited me you slept in the same bed!”

“He gets cold. Doesn’ have a good grasp of boundaries.” Sweden frowned. “An’ your futon’s lumpy.”

“I got it at IKEA. What about Norway? You lived with him for long enough.”

He said nothing, and continued typing, but the scowl he gave Denmark more than got the point across.

Denmark only laughed, and sipped his coffee. “Okay, okay… really? You’ve been around for more than a thousand years and… _really_?”

“Yer sitting on my paperwork.”

Denmark laughed again, and got up. Sweden didn’t know where he was going, but he hoped it involved putting on a shirt.

With any luck that would be the end of it.

\----------

Alas for Sweden, it was not. 

Denmark went to shower - and he wasn’t thinking about that, no he _wasn’t_ \- and thankfully emerged fully dressed. He was much less thankful, however, when Denmark shoved aside all of his carefully arranged stacks of papers and sprawled out next to him on the couch.

“So, then,” Denmark asked, flipping through TV channels, “You ever thought about it?”

Sweden didn’t look up from his work. “ ‘Bout what?”

“You know.”

Oh. That. 

He remained silent. 

“Well?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, and immediately regretted it. Lying would have led to fewer questions.

“So then why haven’t you?”

Why were they even talking about this? He picked up a stack of papers and tried to put them back into some semblance of order, and contemplated kicking Denmark out (with the added bonus of getting him a bunk in some ‘creepy youth hostel.’) Then again, if he did that, this would probably become global news. And someone might steal Denmark’s pants again and then - 

He sighed. 

Denmark’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t… I mean, you could do it, if you wanted to, right?”

 _Why_ were they even _talking_ about this? Sweden blushed, and mumbled something unintelligible - anything to answer - while reading and re-reading the phrase "Geotechnical Data Report Addendum" as though his life depended on it. 

“ _What?!_ You - you know that’s not normal, right? They make pills for that now!”

He blushed even more deeply, if that were possible, and finally choked out, “Can get it up jus’ fine, thanks.”

“Well, then what the hell is holding you back?"

Sweden glared. 

———

Denmark let the matter drop after that, and watched TV more-or-less (mostly less) unobtrusively until dinnertime. He cooked dinner (and cake) just as he’d promised, and they managed to get through that without a single mention of Sweden’s sex life, or the lack thereof.

Sweden should have known it was too good to last. 

He was standing at the sink, washing the dishes, as Denmark leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee. He had just noticed how unnaturally peaceful and quiet it was, and wondered how concerned he ought to be with that, when Denmark spoke up, 

“So, Sverige, have you ever _wanted_ to?”

He would have said, ‘wanted to what?’, just to be aggravating, but that would have been childish, and he refused to stoop to Denmark’s level. He settled for scowling down at the dishes, instead. 

“What? You said you could do it if you wanted to, so why not? Unless you’ve never wanted to…”

Oh no, they weren’t starting that discussion again. “‘S not that.”

“Aha! So you _do_ wanna do it with someone! Why haven’t you, then? Too shy?”

He said nothing. 

“Come on, really? I mean, you’re scary-looking, but you’re not unattractive. Hell, the only reason I never tried to get in your pants is ‘cause you hated me. So who is it?”

Why did this even matter? He focused all his attention on scouring a dirty pan, and hoping against hope that Denmark would just let it be. 

_Not unattractive?_

He scrubbed harder.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna have to guess,” Denmark singsonged, sounding far too enthusiastic for comfort. “Finland? Norway? Russia?”

Sweden turned round for the express purpose of glaring at him. Denmark was not deterred.

“Germany, that province-stealing bastard?” 

“No.”

“Oh, are you into girls? Ukraine? If I liked chicks I would totally -”

“No.”

“Hungary?”

“No.”

“Belarus?”

He chose not to dignify that with a response.

“Oh, God, it’s Belarus, isn’t it? You’re _sick,_ Sverige.”

“ _No._ ” He sighed. He was loath to give Denmark any sort of encouragement, but he really didn’t need that rumor going around. He liked having all his pieces intact, thanks. He muttered, just barely loud enough to hear, “Not into girls.”

He chanced a glance over at Denmark, who was smirking at him from behind his coffee cup. He really didn’t like that look. 

“Hmmm….” Denmark took a sip of coffee. “You like guys, huh? Is it England? France? Japan?”

Sweden returned his attention to the sink as Denmark began listing nations, and tried to pretend he was anywhere but here. He would have left the room, or the house, but he had a feeling that that would only provoke Denmark into even more obnoxious - and more public - behavior. That settled it. He was never having Denmark over, ever again, no matter how much cake there was. 

“...so it’s not Turkmenistan. San Marino? Please tell me it’s not San Marino. He’s so _whiny_. And old. Eurgh.” Denmark pulled a face.

“ ‘S not San Marino.”

“Well, that’s everyone, unless you’re into pets or inanimate objects…” 

Sweden stared intently down at the last of the dirty plates. “ ‘S not everyone.”

Denmark laughed. “What, do you have a thing for me or someth -” 

He broke off, suddenly, as the realization dawned. “Oh.”

Sweden said nothing.

“Really?” Denmark’s voice softened. “Shit, and here I spent all these years figuring you for a lost cause.”

He didn’t answer, trying to think through the shock. That was not at all the response he’d expected.

Denmark chuckled, a little. “Had no idea. God, Sverige, you’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Same t’ you.”

“Hey…” Denmark’s voice was still quiet, and strangely gentle. He put a hand on Sweden’s shoulder, and Sweden glanced over to find his face devoid of its usual smirk. Dead serious. 

He swallowed.

Denmark spoke first. “You should’ve said something.”

“ ‘M not good at sayin’ things,” Sweden muttered. “Y’ wouldn’ want to anyways.”

“I wouldn’t?” He stepped forward, coiling an arm around Sweden’s waist. A very strong, very well-shaped, very _warm_ arm.

Oh.

“Hmm,” Denmark whispered. “Do you still want to?”

Slowly, Sweden dried his hands. Wouldn’t do to encourage him. “Depends.”

“On what?”

His mouth went dry. “Why’re y’ doing this?”

“Because I want to.” He practically heard the smirk returning to Denmark’s face. “It’s not a pity fuck, if that’s what you’re asking.”

That word brought it all rushing home. He shivered and Denmark laughed, breath ghosting across his ear. 

Sweden tried to think it through, a task made somewhat difficult by the fact that his pants seemed to be cutting off circulation to his brain. On the one hand, he’d been wanting to do this for quite some time, and it seemed like Denmark wasn’t opposed to it. _Really_ wasn’t opposed to it, unless he’d suddenly put something in his pocket.

On the other hand, he hadn’t done this before and he was sure there’d be gloating.

Then again, Denmark felt really _good_ up against him like that, arms around him and hand drifting infinitesimally lower… 

He swallowed, and tried to pretend his trousers hadn’t become three sizes too tight. 

What the hell. 

He took a deep breath, summoned all his courage, and bravely answered, “‘Kay.”

He hoped Denmark hadn’t noticed how his voice cracked. 

In answer Denmark hooked nimble fingers through his belt loops and turned him around, stepping in close. “So, Sverige,” he drawled, looking far more gleeful than was necessary, “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

Sweden scowled. “ ‘M not twelve.”

The smirk widened, and Denmark gave a pointed glance downward. “Yeah, I can see that.”

He glared, but before he could dredge through his thoughts for an answer Denmark shoved him up against the counter and yanked him down into a kiss. 

For a second Sweden froze, pulse pounding, and then he straightened up and gave as good as he got, shoving back against him - fucking hell, that was _nice_ \- and bringing up his hands to fist themselves in the shoulders of Denmark’s T-shirt. Denmark’s tongue darted out to flick against his lower lip, and he nipped at it, raking a hand through Denmark’s hair.

Denmark moaned and redoubled his efforts, doing positively obscene things with hands and hips and mouth. Sweden fell back on shaky legs and went with it, thankful the counter was there to keep him from falling. Eventually the need for oxygen became too strong and they broke apart, breathing hard. Sweden looked up, tongue running lightly over swollen lips, his brain a foggy mess. 

“I-“ Denmark began, and broke off, looking about as coherent as Sweden felt. He tried to say something, stopped, tried again, and finally settled on, “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Definitely okay. 

Denmark moved back in to kiss him, mouthing wetly down Sweden’s jaw, down his neck. As he nudged aside Sweden’s collar to start on his collarbone, Sweden slid an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He got a leg between Denmark’s and rubbed his thigh against the hardness there, earning another moan. 

“Nnng.” Denmark looked up at him, pupils blown wide. “If we don’t move I’m gonna end up doing this right here.”

Well, they _could_ \- 

\- but Sweden wasn’t stupid. If he lost his virginity in the kitchen he’d never hear the end of it. He gave a growl, and shoved Denmark backward. “Bed.”

Denmark grinned, and gave his waistband a tug.

He seemed to have a somewhat liberal interpretation of the word ‘bed,’ as their journey up the stairs was punctuated by several stops to kiss, lick, or otherwise grope him. Thanks, however, to sheer determination and a few well-aimed pelvic thrusts, they finally made it to their destination, where Denmark broke away to deposit him on the bed. 

“We’re gonna need, uh…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “I’ll be right back.” 

As he retreated, Sweden took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves. His hands shook, faintly. 

He’d never thought this would actually happen.

His contemplation was cut short when Denmark returned triumphant, bottle of lube in hand and shirt nowhere to be found. 

“Y’know,” he said, looking distinctly unimpressed, “It’ll be a lot easier to do this if you aren’t wearing clothes.”

With a confidence he wasn’t entirely sure he felt, he answered, “Take ‘em off, then.” 

“Bastard.” Denmark reached for the hem of Sweden’s shirt and tugged it upward, using the opportunity to lick a burning trail up his ribcage. He paused to circle around one pebbled nipple, and gave a satisfied hum when Sweden gasped.

It took Sweden what felt like forever to drag the words out of his brain and through his mouth, not helped by Denmark, who’d apparently made this a new hobby. Half-dazed, he muttered, “Yer one to talk.”

“Huh?”

“Still wearin’ pants.” To emphasize the point, he reached out to squeeze him right in the spot where the offending pants where at their tightest.

“Oh.” Denmark’s grip went slack, his eyelids flickering closed.

Sweden smirked. All right, so doing this with someone was different from doing it with his own body, but the principles were definitely the same. He slid his hand below Denmark’s waistband and squeezed again.

“ _Oh_ , fuck you, I was gonna do that, yes-“

Sweden kept it up, as Denmark thrust against his hand and grew increasingly less coherent. He didn’t miss the way one side of Denmark’s mouth twitched up, though, and looked down to find Denmark’s hand at the front of his jeans, undoing the button and reaching for the zipper. He closed his eyes - 

-and gasped, as roughened fingers just teased against the head of his cock. Denmark’s hand circled him lightly, never quite making full contact, even as Sweden pulled back his hands and braced against the bed, trying to force the issue. Suddenly light-headed, he gripped the edge of the mattress for balance, and opened his eyes to find Denmark grinning.

“Relax,” he said, and moved his hand aside, thumb stroking the crest of Sweden’s hipbone. “Just relax. We’re gonna go slow.”

Out of all the things he’d expected Denmark to say, that was the absolute last. Something was up. Sweden’s eyes narrowed, the ferocious effect somewhat lessened by the fact that his pants were half-undone.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for _years_. I’m not about to fuck it up now. Besides,” Denmark said, “Someone’s gotta show you how it’s done.”

Before Sweden could protest that, Denmark leaned in to kiss him again, mouth warm and yielding. In one smooth movement he straddled Sweden’s thighs and pressed him down into the mattress. Sweden’s hips jerked in answer and he made a pleased noise as the rough denim of Denmark’s jeans rubbed through his own thin boxers, delicious friction - but it wasn’t enough, not at all - 

Denmark ground down against him, and Sweden ground back up, taking Denmark’s lower lip between his teeth and sucking, as his hands fumbled unsuccessfully for the fastenings of Denmark’s pants. To hell with inexperience, he _needed_ this, right fucking now. He growled a curse when his shaking hands couldn’t seem to get the message. 

Denmark only chuckled, and drew back. With practiced ease he peeled off the rest of his clothing before reaching for Sweden’s hips, where his jeans had slid halfway down.

He put his hands there, heated and rough, but didn’t _do_ anything, and Sweden gave a frustrated grumble. “Off.”

Denmark laughed again. “Not so fast.” He kissed him, a brush of lips so light and brief it could barely be called a kiss, and swiped his tongue across Sweden’s lower lip, smirking at the resulting whine. “Said we were gonna go slow, didn’t I?”

With every move a beautiful agony, he kissed his way from Sweden’s mouth, down his neck, pausing to leave a wet and reddening mark before working his way all the way down Sweden’s chest, stopping right above the waistband to his boxers. 

“Tease.”

“Not my fault you wear too many clothes, Sverige.” With that, he hooked his fingers underneath the elastic, touch searing hot against Sweden’s skin, and pulled pants and boxers off in one go. 

Every bit of blood in Sweden’s body went rushing straight to his cock, hard and needy. Deliberately, Denmark leaned down, and planted a kiss at the base of him, the tip of his tongue darting out for one teasing lick. 

Sweden’s eyes screwed shut and he arched off the bed with a cry, even as his thighs involuntarily spread apart because he needed more of that right _now_ \- 

Denmark ignored his begging and instead carefully kissed his way back up his body, just as he’d kissed down. He drew back, then, his touch light as he rolled over to Sweden’s side. His hand traced abstract trails down Sweden’s chest, before stroking him lazily once, twice, and dropping to caress his balls. Sweden arched into his hand and Denmark slid his fingers lower, circling him there. He shivered, and looked up at Denmark, eyes wide. 

“Still okay?”

He took a slow breath. “Yeah.”

Denmark kissed him, a soft touch at the base of his jaw, and took his hand away. He heard the _pop_ of a cap and then Denmark’s finger returned and pressed further, slick and hard, stretching. 

Sweden tensed.

It felt strange - not painful, not great - but then Denmark’s other hand found his cock, stroking him slowly all the way up, and _that_ felt good. Bit by bit, he relaxed under the touch and when Denmark added a second finger he thrust up his hips to meet it, taking him in deep.

In response Denmark kissed him deeply and moved his fingers. He bucked his hips, biting back a profanity, and Denmark laughed. “Liked that, huh?”

Sweden decided to silence that laugh by pinching the closest thing he could reach - Denmark’s left nipple. It got him a gasp, and then an evil grin, and then Denmark moved his fingers again and ohgodyes that was _perfect_ -

“You’re gonna really like what comes next, then.”

\- and before he knew it there was a third finger there, spreading him. His back arched. “Ah-”

Denmark caught the rest of the moan with his mouth, and trailed more kisses down his jaw, down his neck. Low-voiced and wanting, he murmured, “Ready?”

Hell, yes.

Sweden nodded, and Denmark pulled away, coming to kneel between his legs. He squeezed more lube into his hand and stroked himself, leaning down to brace one hand under Sweden’s upturned knee. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Something warmer and thicker than fingers pressed against him, and then Denmark was _there_ , stretching him wide in one slow thrust. The fullness of it was nearly too much, and before he could even start to adapt to it Denmark took his hand, still slick with lube, and wrapped it around his aching cock. With a cry Sweden bucked up into the touch, heat and pressure and wetness almost more than he could take.

For too long - half a minute, forever, he didn’t know - Denmark held perfectly still. Sweden lay there underneath him, little trembles shocking through his body, spread out and open and overwhelmed. He tried to relax around it, breathing shallowly, and Denmark stroked a hand up and down his thigh, soothing. 

Gradually it worked, and _too much_ became _not enough_. He moved his hips, moaning softly, and _finally_ Denmark’s grip tightened, his hips shifted, and he started to move.

He started gently, pulling back with agonizing slowness before sliding forward to fill him again. The first time it happened Sweden cried out, and at the next his hands scrabbled for purchase and his eyes squeezed shut as Denmark just kept _going_ , stroking him and kissing him and fucking him slowly until every touch was beautiful torture and he was almost weeping for release.

“Oh, _god,_ ” Denmark groaned above him, skin slick with sweat, “You’re really fucking tight.” 

Sweden swore an answer and tightened around him, gasping as Denmark’s hand slipped off his leg and the next thrust hit that perfect spot. With a muffled curse Denmark bent over him, sinking his whole weight down into Sweden as he pounded deeper, relentless and demanding. 

Sweden did his best to keep up, meeting him thrust-for-thrust and arching up off the mattress as the unbearable anticipation burned down his belly to coil between his legs. 

It finally became too much.

“Gonna -“ His breath caught in his throat, trailing off into a desperate moan, and he managed to cling to the edge just long enough to hear Denmark growl,

“ _Yes_.”

With a shuddering gasp he came, straining against Denmark’s hand. Denmark stroked him through it until he couldn’t hang on any longer, following suit with one last deep thrust and a moan that went straight up Sweden’s spine. They rode it out together, and Denmark finally collapsed against him, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead and fingers tangled in the sheets. 

He definitely should have done this sooner.

Panting, Denmark looked up at him - how did he still have the energy to _move_? - and grinned. “Soo, Sverige, whaddaya think? Still prefer that life of celibacy?”

Sweden tried to reach up to smack him, and failed, limbs still trembling with the aftershocks. “No,” he finally admitted, hoping Denmark wouldn’t let it go to his head too much. 

He’d hoped wrong.

Denmark fairly crowed. “Ha! I knew it, it’s -“ 

Sweden frowned. “Sticky.”

“Heh, yeah, hang on…” Denmark pulled away, hissing at stimulation against oversensitive flesh. Sweden could do little more than moan at the sudden emptiness, and watch, exhausted, as he went to grab a washcloth.

With efficient strokes he wiped them both off, and when he was done he climbed back into bed, an arm around Sweden’s waist. “Better?”

“Mm.” Sweden settled on his side, still trying to catch his breath. Maybe he’d let Denmark come over more often. He wouldn’t even have to bring cake. 

They spent the rest of the evening like that, blissed-out and half-dozing, until Denmark broke the silence. “Sverige?”

“Hm?”

His hand inched lower. “Wanna go again?”


End file.
